


Lifeline

by caitbalfes (ladybeauchamp)



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybeauchamp/pseuds/caitbalfes
Summary: Claire doesn't have a husband to return to. Jamie doesn't have a price on his head. Seems like smooth sailing . . . right?





	1. An Escape

He had needed to get away, if so only for a while. It was risky to ride alone in the forest; with his red hair and impressive height he could easily be recognised by redcoats. The English Crown had pardoned him, but he still feared running into the kind of callous officers that would punish a Scot, be there reason or not.

The real risk was, perhaps, not the threat of the English, but the threat of the MacKenzies. Jamie had neglected to inform either one of his uncles that he had escaped Leoch for the day and was sure to face the ire of both when he returned—part of him wished it wasn’t  _when_ he returned, but  _if_ he returned; part of him wished he had a choice.

Despite these risks, though some of them merely perceived, Jamie’s need to get away was too great to ignore. Walking around Castle Leoch, he had had a gnawing feeling he couldn’t shake. It seemed to him that the air inside the walls of that castle was not meant for breathing, but rather for slowly suffocating.

At this point, Jamie was a good distance away from the castle, and that time alone had him feeling freer than he’d felt since the price was lifted from his head. He couldn’t explain why, but also didn’t care to dwell overmuch on it. He was simply going to enjoy the feeling of freedom and fresh air in his lungs.

Jamie had only told Murtagh that he was away, and only because his godfather had caught him in the act of saddling a horse and inquired where he was going.

“I need some air,” Jamie had said. “I canna . . . breathe here.”

“Aye, I can tell, what wi’ yer uncles breathing down your neck and that lassie—”

“Don’t,” Jamie sneered, perhaps a bit harshly. He knew Murtagh had his own ideas about why Jamie was so miserable.

“Ye need to go  _home_ , lad. Leoch isna yer home and ye ken it. Ye dinna belong here,” he’d said.

_Home_.

Jamie knew Castle Leoch was not his home by choice, but it was the home he had. He couldn’t go back to Lallybroch after everything that had happened. His ties to Leoch were too strong to sever now.

Yet his dreams were filled with the green pastures outside his true home and his sister’s smile. His father was there, too. But all too often the dreams would turn dark, and instead of Jenny’s smile he would see her tears as she was being led away by Captain Randall. He would see the whip, coated in his blood. And he would see his father’s eyes go round before his body slumped to the ground.

No, Jamie Fraser could never return home.

So deeply immersed in his thoughts was he that he hadn’t realised what was happening in his vicinity until a woman’s high-pitched cry jerked him back to reality.

His head immediately snapped in the direction of the distressed scream and his eyes landed on the red-coated back of a man. He was taller than the woman who had emitted the cry, so Jamie didn’t see her at first, but when he did, it didn’t take a second for Jamie to understand what was about to happen to the poor woman.

He was swiftly off the horse and launched himself forward to knock the man out of the way, but the redcoat had heard his movements as he stepped on a dry twig and turned around just in time to see Jamie coming at him.

Jamie stopped dead in his tracks as recognition hit him. He knew that man. It was the man that haunted his nightmares, the man whose scars he carried on his back as a constant reminder of the cruelty that existed in some men, and of his own failures.

Disgust seeping through him, Jamie, in a rash move, flung his fist at Randall’s face, hoping to knock him out. Unfortunately, Jamie’s pause of surprise had given the captain time to anticipate what was coming and smoothly dodged Jamie’s clenched fist.

Randall grabbed Jamie’s arm and swung around him, wrapping his arms around Jamie’s throat.

Jamie heard the woman gasp and his eyes found hers. He had momentarily forgotten her in his rage at seeing Captain Randall again. Now he was mesmerised by her eyes that appeared to be the colour of whiskey.

Jamie had been distracted for mere seconds, but Randall seized the opportunity to hurl him against a stone wall, twisting his arm in the process. He hit it with his shoulder and pain seared through his arm.

Randall seemed delighted at the pain he had caused. So delighted, in fact, that he failed to notice the woman behind him before her fist connected with his temple and he fell unconscious to the ground.

She stood frozen for a moment, stunned at having knocked a man out cold.

Jamie tried to stand upright again, but let out a groan as the action reminded him of the pain in his shoulder. As adrenaline slowly faded, the pain worsened.

Hearing his groan, the woman was by his side in a second, inspecting his injury.

Jamie made an attempt to move, intending to leave the site before that devil of a man woke up.

“No, you’re hurt,” said the woman, preventing his movement. To his surprise, he realised that she was English. He wondered for a moment why an Englishwoman would find herself in such a situation with Captain Randall, but an interrogation would have to wait. They had more pressing matters, such as escaping the scene.

“We should go.” Jamie motioned to the unconscious captain. “Ye don’t want to be here when he wakes up, lass. There’s a cabin nearby, you can tend to me there if ye please,” he added before she could protest.

She hesitated for a moment, but then nodded in agreement.

As Jamie approached his horse, the woman said, “Surely you don’t mean to ride with that shoulder!”

“I don’t have a choice. Come on, it’s no far.”

She cast a final glance at Jack Randall before seemingly deciding that staying was not an option. She got up on the horse and they rode away.

* * *

It was already dark when they reached the cabin. Once they were inside, the woman didn’t waste any time before continuing what she’d started before.

“Your shoulder is dislocated,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I need to get the bone of the upper arm in the correct position—”

Between his aching shoulder, her gentle hands on him, and her bonny face deep in concentration as she described what she needed to do, he stopped listening to her words.

He was once again mesmerised by her golden eyes and opal skin. She was beautiful, to be sure. He dared say she was the most magnificent woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.

“Are you listening to me?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but said, “I wish I had someone to hold you steady for this, but I suppose you’ll have to . . . steady yourself.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and steeled himself.

When his joint slipped back in its correct position, he was relieved to find the pain gone in an instant.

“It doesna hurt anymore.”

“It will. It’ll be tender for about a week. You’ll need a sling.” Her eyes darted to his belt. “Give me your belt,” she demanded.

Had it been anyone else he would have protested, but her tone of authority made him abide her request.

“Are ye some kind of healer?”

“Something like that.”

As she tied the belt around his arm and shoulder, she instructed him not to move his arm for a couple of days. When she was finally done, she sat down next to him.

“Thank ye, Sassenach.”

“It’s nothing. It’s I that should be thanking you. Hadn’t you come to my rescue . . .” She shuddered at the thought of Captain Randall and the near-rape.

“I think ye rescued me as much as I did you. It  _was_ you that delivered the final blow if memory serves correct. It was verra impressive, Sassenach.”

Her lips curved upwards. “I suppose we did rescue each other.”

He offered her his flask and she wordlessly accepted it, drank, then handed it back to him. As he took a swig as well, she asked, “Why do you call me ‘Sassenach’? I do have a name, you know. It’s Claire.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Claire Beauchamp.”

“I didna mean to offend ye, Sass—Mistress Beauchamp, but you are English, are ye not? What were you doing alone in the woods wearing”—he eyed her dirty shift—“that?”

She looked down at her hands. Her long fingers were twisting around each other in a nervous fashion, deliberately avoiding the golden band on her left ring finger.

“I lost my way in the forest,” she began tentatively. “I was robbed of my belongings by some highwaymen before I had the misfortune to encounter Captain Randall . . . an encounter that relieved me of most of my clothes.”

Claire was lying, of that he was certain. She didn’t seem like a dishonest woman, though, so Jamie thought whatever her reason was for lying it was a good one.

He decided to not to interrogate her further, even though he very much wanted to know how she’d found herself in the Highlands in the first place and what had caused her to end up alone in the forest.

“Do ye have any friends or family here? I should like to see ye safe there.”

She shook her head. “I’ve no one here.” Her voice was a mere whisper, as though she had not intended to speak aloud.

“I dinna want to force ye, Mistress, but I think ye should come back with me to Castle Leoch. I’d feel uneasy to leave ye here alone tomorrow morning. Especially when Captain Randall is in the area. You don’t want to risk running into him again.”

He really did feel uneasy about leaving her alone if she had nowhere to go, but that was not the only reason he’d offered to take her with him. He didn’t want to say goodbye too soon. He wanted to stay in this fascinating woman’s company as long as he could. Being in her presence had made him forget the dull life he had tried to escape for a few hours.

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll come with you.”


	2. The First Misstep

There can be danger in the lack of a purpose. When you no longer have something to give your life meaning, it’s awfully easy to throw caution to the wind and embark on a dangerous—and often foolish—journey.

Some people thrive in danger; they are hardwired to seek it out. For those people, the real danger is being idle, for boredom eats away at their very soul. They need a purpose like they need air to breathe, or food to eat.

Frank had said once he feared I loved my patients more than I loved him. He had said it half-jokingly, but he had been right.

I had always had a drive, though I had not always known towards what. But I kept moving forward, knowing I could never be content standing still. I had the tendency to seek out those dangerous environments other people would rather avoid, but I liked to think I didn’t have the fatal foolishness that some did. If I did, I would quite possibly find out soon.

* * *

 

On our way to Castle Leoch, Jamie regaled me with stories. He had told me about his uncles and Clan MacKenzie, after I’d shown quite a bit of enthusiasm for learning more about the place and its inhabitants. In truth, I had been to the castle once before—or would come there once more?—but at that time, it had been merely a ruin, inhabited by no one.

Foolish or not for putting myself in this situation, here I was, and I did think trying to learn something of the place to which I was headed was a good idea. Information would allow me to prepare, and preparation I definitely needed in order to lie effectively about my origin, for no one could know where I _truly_ came from. Such was life for one with the misfortune of being cursed with a face of glass.

Jamie’s tales provided more than information, though. They were entertainment. He certainly had a gift for storytelling, and I enjoyed listening to him. Though his tales had initially unsettled me a bit, they were further confirmation that I truly was in the past—the eighteenth century—something I had realised when I happened upon Captain Randall, but still naïvely hoped to be a dream.

I hadn’t realised it then, but when Jamie asked me to come with him, I had made a decision to stay—for now, at least—in this time. There was little left for me where I came from, save that perilous boredom.

“I have to ask, Sassenach,” Jamie said, suddenly. “Why is it ye were lost in the forest in the first place? It seems unsafe for a lady such as yourself to travel alone, you could easily be—well, you know what could happen.”

I did. My unfortunate encounter with Captain Randall was not one I’d soon forget. It was only luck that had allowed me to get away unscathed. Luck in the form of a dashing rescuer, Jamie Fraser.

I tried to come up with a good explanation as to why I had wandered astray in the forest, but I had none. How could I tell him how I’d ended up here when I barely understood it myself?

I twirled the golden ring on my finger. I had told him I was widowed, mostly because I suspected the term _divorced_ would be frowned upon, considering the times—even in my time, it wasn’t exactly something women would boast about.

I knew I had to tell Jamie something, even if I didn’t think he would force me to reveal something I didn’t wish to. He seemed to be a kind man, a gentle man, maybe even a loving man. He hadn’t talked extensively about his home, but he had mentioned a sister and of her, he’d talked very fondly. Family, it seemed, he valued greatly.

I took a deep breath.

“It’s a long story,” I began slowly, mentally berating myself for the, at best, _clichéd_ opener; at worst, seeming attempt to stall or avoid answering altogether. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you why, but . . . I ran away.” That was partly true. With an ever-revealing face like mine, it was always better to stick closer to the truth than to outright lie.

That’s what I thought, at least, until Jamie, genuinely worried, said, “Are ye in danger? Are ye being chased by someone who wishes to do ye harm?”

His worry both warmed my heart and troubled me. Had he cared less, he would’ve asked fewer questions. It was unlikely that he’d be satisfied until he knew I wasn’t in any danger.

“No,” I said, with as much conviction as I could muster, “I promise, no one’s looking for me.”

I couldn’t see his face as we were on horseback, him sitting behind me, but I could imagine the look of concern that refused to leave his face.

“Did you know him?” I asked, eager to change the subject. “Captain Randall, that is.” I had seen how he’d looked at the captain when they fought, something that suggested there was more to his fury than seeing a stranger about to take a woman by force.

“Aye. I ken him.”

I glanced back, startled by the brevity. His gaze was fixed somewhere far off, his posture stiff. Whatever he was looking at, I couldn’t say, but then I thought neither could he. He seemed lost in thought, reliving a memory.

I was undeniably curious and wanted to ask how their paths had crossed before, what Randall had done to make this man hate him so. I didn’t ask, though. Whatever it was, if Jamie’s expression was anything to go by, it was not a pleasant topic of conversation.

While I understood that he might not wish to speak of something that seemed to pain him, I found myself a bit surprised seeing as he’d been so unusually, yet pleasantly, forthcoming with information about himself during our ride.

He had told me a number of things about himself. He had told me that, not too long ago, he had been an outlaw, and only recently had he been pardoned.

He’d said the price on his head had prevented him from returning to Lallybroch, as his ancestral home was called, and that was why he stayed at Leoch. What he hadn’t told me was why he, now a free man, chose to remain there, instead of returning home.

* * *

 

When we arrived at the castle, a woman rushed out to greet—or rather, scold Jamie. She eyed Jamie with disapproval and me with suspicion.

“What do ye mean by disappearing like that, lad? Gone all night! People have been askin’ for ye, _not to mention_ —”

“Mrs Fitz,” said Jamie, as he helped me dismount. “This is—”

“And what do we have here?” asked Mrs Fitz. She surveyed me from top to toe. Her eyes lingered on my once-white dress with particular curiosity and not a little disfavour.

“Claire Beauchamp,” said Jamie. “I brought her here for protection.”

“Is that so?” Her face softened, the initial suspicion towards me subsiding.

“Aye. Would ye make sure she has some proper clothes? I should speak to my uncle.”

“Aye, and then there are other people who’d like to speak to ye as well, as I’m sure ye ken. I wouldna advise ye to wait too long.”

“Wait!” As Jamie was about to walk away, I reached out a hand, putting it gently on his arm, prompting him to stay. “Your wound. Unless you want it to get infected, you should let me clean and dress it properly.”

Having earned Jamie’s trust in my medical abilities after helping him with his shoulder the day before, he agreed without objection.

Mrs Fitz kindly showed us to a room where I could tend to my patient. The room was dark and cold, and the many shelves that adorned the stone walls were crammed with jars that clearly hadn’t been touched in a while; they were covered with dust.

Upon entering, I had turned my questioning gaze to Mrs Fitz, who explained, “’Tis the surgery. It hasena been used in some time, no since Davie Beaton passed.”

The temperature problem was soon remedied by a fire, and Mrs Fitz left us alone.

I hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Jamie’s bare back when he removed his shirt so I could tend to his shoulder. Scars covered the expanse of his back.

“The Redcoats,” Jamie explained. “They flogged me twice in the space of a week. They’d have done it twice the same day, I expect, were they no afraid of killing me. There’s no joy in flogging a dead man.”

“I shouldn’t think anyone would do such a thing for joy.”

“If Randall was not precisely joyous, he was at least very pleased with himself.”

I understood, then. Or, at least I thought I did. His hatred towards Captain Randall, the painful memory he hadn’t wished to speak about. This was it.

Much to my surprise, Jamie did speak of it now though. His earlier reluctance to do so had apparently dissolved. I wondered why. Was it something I’d done to prove myself more trustworthy? Was it that I’d now _seen_ the scars, so I might as well know the story behind them? Perhaps he worried I would misjudge him for his scars if I didn’t know the full story.

He recounted the event whilst I dressed his wound. This was a far less cheerful tale than those he had shared with me on horseback, but his storytelling was vivid as ever.

I met his eyes, trying to show him the same sympathy and understanding he had shown me the day before. Since the moment we met, Jamie had been nothing but kind to me. He had shown more compassion than any man I’d ever met.

I stroked his arm to comfort him, and his lips curved upwards in reply. He looked younger when he smiled; there was something boyish about it. I realised that he must, in fact, _be_ younger. That thought hadn’t occurred to me when he’d acted as my rescuer and protector. While I appreciated his heroic side, what drew me in was the vulnerability he had shown me, sharing his scars.

Hand still lingering on his arm, I leaned in slowly, my eyes not leaving his. I could feel his breath hot against my lips. An inch, and I would touch his lips—

He pulled back.

I didn’t quite know what to feel. Confusion hit me first, followed by shock that was soon replaced by embarrassment.

My eyes sought his, to ask for an explanation, or see if I had misinterpreted the situation, but he turned his head away, hiding his expression.

Mrs Fitz could not have returned at a better time. She helped me escape, as she was to fulfil Jamie’s request that I be given proper attire.

Before our departure she reminded Jamie once more to seek out his uncle Colum.

I followed her to a guest bedroom where she helped me change into a more appropriate dress, and sometime thereafter came a dark-haired man by the name of Murtagh to inform me that The MacKenzie wished to speak to me.

Mrs Fitz gave me an encouraging smile before I departed.

My escort, by contrast, didn’t speak another word to me, let alone smile.

Jamie had told me about Colum MacKenzie, Chief of Clan MacKenzie, but not in great detail. He had had more to say about his other uncle, Dougal, the war chief. Despite our awkward encounter, I found myself wishing Jamie was there by my side as I entered the tower room where the MacKenzie was waiting.

* * *

 

My silent escort was still waiting for me when I exited, but he wasn’t alone. Jamie was with him.

I couldn’t help but smile in relief at the sight.

“What did he say?” Jamie asked at once, excitement in his tone.

“You ask as though you don’t already know! You talked to him about me,” I said, crossing my arms, “you told him I was a healer.”

“Aye, I had to say something so he’d let ye stay, didn’t I? He was verra suspicious at first when I said I’d brought a Sassenach here.”

“I’d say he was still _verra_ suspicious when we spoke,” I said in a poor imitation of his accent. Colum had been suspicious, but he had let me stay nonetheless, thanks to Jamie. He had gifted me the late Davie Beaton’s surgery, in return for my serving as the castle’s new healer, for the duration of my _visit_.

“He did invite me to the hall tonight, though,” I continued, “there is to be a Welsh singer apparently—”

“JAMIE FRASER!” The voice came from somewhere farther down the stairs. Rapid footsteps that likely belonged to the voice echoed loudly as they neared.

Jamie, having tensed up at the high-pitched shriek, looked over at Murtagh, wordlessly asking for counsel.

Murtagh raised his eyebrows so as to say, “What did I tell you?” making me wonder just what Murtagh had told Jamie and why.

The footsteps reached the top of the stairs and facing us was now a young, round-faced girl with her arms crossed over her chest. Her pale eyes narrowed as they noticed me.

“Jamie Fraser!” she repeated. It was less of a shriek this time, but no less angry. “ _Where_ have ye been!?”

Jamie opened his mouth to explain, but the girl cut him off.

“And who is _that_!?” Her voice was venomous as she jerked her head rudely at _me_.

“Ah . . . this is Claire Beauchamp,” he said, “she’s a guest of the MacKenzie and the new healer of the castle.” Evidently explaining me was easier than explaining his whereabouts since yesterday afternoon.

The girl was still waiting for further explanation. Jamie sighed and said, “I was out riding.”

“RIDING!? Ye mean to say ye’ve been out riding _all night_?”

“Laoghaire, perhaps we can have this conversation in private?”

The girl—Laoghaire—muttered something, then turned and started walking down the stairs, Jamie following her.

“Who was that?” I asked Murtagh after they had left.

“That was his wife.”


	3. The Barmecide Effect

I hadn’t seen Jamie since he’d been whisked away by his wife—God! His  _wife_. That had certainly been . . . unexpected. I’d thought Jamie was unusually, though pleasantly, open with me. He’d regaled me with stories about himself, his life before Leoch, his family—though not all of his family, apparently. Not his  _wife_. Why had he felt the need to hide that from me?

_Because he doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t friends; you barely know one another._

I almost felt betrayed, which was absurd. But he had saved me and I had healed him. He had ensured I’d be allowed to stay at Leoch despite my being an Englishwoman. He had been nothing but kind, and somehow I’d felt . . .  _what_? That there was  _something_ between us? Well, apparently there wasn’t, or at least there couldn’t be. He was married, after all.

Despite all that, I hoped he would come to the hall tonight; otherwise I would have no company save the liquid kind. Alcohol was a fine companion, but not when somewhere filled with people who distrusted you. It wouldn’t do to be careless; I had to be on my guard.

“Mistress Beauchamp!”

So I wasn’t to be alone, after all. He stood on the other side of the room, waving. He needn’t have waved for I could see him perfectly even from a distance. His height alone distinguished him, and then there was his red hair.

I walked over to him, glass in hand, as he was the only person here, save perhaps Mrs Fitz, that I trusted. I certainly didn’t trust Colum, nor did he trust me—he’d made that perfectly clear.

Jamie had taken a seat by the time I reached him. He indicated for me to sit next to him, and so I did.

Neither of us said a word to the other. I sipped my Rhenish and kept my gaze on Gwyllyn the Bard, trying to focus on his lyrics. Though I didn’t understand them, I found them beautiful and serene.

As though he could read my mind, Jamie said, “I could translate some of the lyrics for ye, Mistress.”

I nodded, but didn’t look at him.

Jamie leaned closer, and I felt his hot breath on my cheek as he whispered the English lyrics in my ear.

I turned to him suddenly, my abrupt head-turn causing our noses to bump into each other.

“How is your wife?” I asked, still nose-to-nose with him. At first he had been too startled to move. Now, sobered by my question, he pulled back.

“She . . . weel, she isna pleased wi’ me, I’m afraid. She was . . . not too happy about my absence yesterday.”

I supposed that explained her absence now. I had wondered why Jamie came alone and had contemplated asking about his young girl for a while. At first I had decided it might be rude, but a glass later I decided that propriety be damned.

“You never told me you had a wife.”

His face was hard to read, but his silence told me all I needed to know. He didn’t have an explanation for why he’d omitted that piece of information when he told me of himself.

I couldn’t find it in myself to be angry with him any longer. I knew he hadn’t withheld the information in order to seduce me, or something along those lines. If that had been the case, he wouldn’t have rejected my kiss. He still seemed the honourable man I’d first thought him to be. However, this knowledge didn’t quell my curiosity even a little.

I wondered suddenly if Jamie thought I was angry with him still, and felt guilty for causing him more pain than he deserved. His wife was upset with him—though she probably had good reason. His godfather was in an I-told-you-so mood, and I, a mere stranger, felt betrayed by him for no good reason at all.

I turned to Jamie once more, putting my hand on his arm in hopes of reassuring him.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to be judgemental. It was none of my business whether you were married.” Though you could’ve told me when I tried to kiss you, I almost added, but didn’t. This was hardly the time.

* * *

“—But just as I was about to mount Donas, wee Hamish—that’s Colum’s lad—interrupted. He had  _concerns_ about marriage, ye ken.”

“What concerns could such a young boy possibly have?”

“Weel, he’d been told that ye must serve a lass like a stallion does a mare, and asked me was that true.”

I snorted into my goblet. “Wherever would he get such a notion?”

“I can assure ye, it’s no so unusual a misconception in these parts, Sassenach,” he said, and I thought he blushed.

“You set him straight, I hope.”

“As well as I could. I wouldna say I’m an expert on the matter.”

“No? You’re married, I should think you’re well versed in the subject.”

“I’ve a fair knowledge.” It was clear he didn’t wish to elaborate.

I wondered for the first time how his marriage to Laoghaire had come to be. He didn’t seem so head-over-heels in love with the girl, but perhaps that was because they’d been married for a long time and no longer acted like newlyweds. That didn’t match up with their ages, though. Jamie was likely in his early twenties—old enough to have been married a few years, but Laoghaire could be no more than seventeen.

Perhaps it was simply an unhappy marriage. I’d only met Laoghaire once, and hadn’t found her to be a particularly pleasant person—but then, what did I know? Maybe I’d just encountered her on the wrong day, in the wrong mood. She could be a lovely person for all I knew.

Jamie turned to me, and I forgot all about Laoghaire.

I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of his red hair in the romantic glow of candlelight that lit up the great hall, it lent his locks a fiery tone. I thought it made him look much like the great warrior I imagined him as.

Though perhaps it was his rescuing me that made me look upon him in such a way. That, or my healing him, seeing as it was not unheard of for a doctor to form a certain bond with a patient of theirs. Frank had told me that once when he suspected I was having an affair. Perhaps he hadn’t suspected as much as hoped, for had it been true it would have evaded him of guilt.

It was certainly possible that my romanticised attraction to the man next to me had little to do with dashing rescues and the bonds of healing, but rather the drink in my hand, for it wasn’t my first. I had to admit I had drunk far more than I should have.

“Mistress,” said Jamie, “should I see ye back to the Surgery? While we can still walk upright,” he added, before I could protest.

Perhaps that was best.

* * *

His hand was on my thigh, though I barely felt it; his touch was feather light. He was warm, not like the flames of his hair, nor the heat in his eyes, but a pleasant kind of warmth that protected from the cool, damp air of the Surgery where he touched my skin.

He inched the hand upwards, taking with him the hem of my shift, exposing more skin to the night air, and to him. He was less exposed to me, for I found my vision obscured by dark curls. Had I been able to feel my hands, I would have brushed my hair out of the way, but I had little sense of myself. I couldn’t feel my body but for where he touched me.

I tried calling out his name, urge him on, but I had no voice either. I had nothing but an aching need.

His touch, which had left me a moment before, returned, not warm this time but scorching. His hand continued its torturous teasing, moving upwards, but never seeming to reach its destination.

Still, I felt him. I felt his hand burning my thigh, and his hot breath brushing my ear as he breathed out, “ _Sorcha_.” I wanted to ask what it meant, but was still unable to find my voice.

He was so close to touching me where I wanted him. So close it made my heart beat faster and my breath come quicker. So close I couldn’t feel anything but him, smell anything but him.

I couldn’t reach out for him, though I ached to touch him. My hands were limp, and my mind foggy.

I faded in and out of consciousness. I fought to stay under the surface, where the heat resided, but my mind kept pulling me up.

I made one last effort, compelled my hand to move, let it search in the dark for my companion, but found that he was air and his touch was a phantom one.


End file.
